Something in my fridge smells like the garbage dump in July. I’ve scanned the shelves without moving anything to see if I can locate it. I don't want to touch whatever is lurking behind the milk and wedged between the eggs and the wall. There are so many possibilities for where the smell is originating, I’m not sure what it is. Is it the macaroni and cheese that has morphed from electric orange to royal blue? Perhaps it’s the pot roast that is a striking collage of chocolate-brown and turquoise? Could it be the blue and yellow Cub-Scout-kerchief spaghetti squash? Or maybe it’s the sippy cup of milk that is minutes away from being cheese? It’s a puzzler.
I hate cleaning out the fridge. I also never eat leftovers but I always keep them. I don’t know why. I feel guilty about throwing food away but then I do it anyway once it’s become a biology project. It’s Crazytown.
In college I had a deal with my sister. She cleaned out the fridge and I cleaned the bathrooms. It was the perfect arrangement. She’s no longer interested in being my roommate or cleaning out my fridge and it really bums me out.
Open invitation: if you enjoy long walks on the beach, eating ice cream, fondling rotting food, and scrubbing down refrigerator shelves, please come live with me.
If not, at least get me a biohazard suit for Christmas.
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